


Reflections

by TheWritingSquid



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, DMC Hanami Week, Flash Fic, Gen, Very Tiny Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23327530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Each in their world, two brothers stare at their reflections.
Relationships: Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Very short offering for Hanami Week - "Family" prompt.

Flashing blades. Power surging. The splash of water under their feet, the taste of blood in his mouth. A deadly dance at the edge of the worlds, his soul screaming. Stop him, stop this, stop-- _stop!_

_Leave me and go._

A dash forward, burning pain in his hand. Fingers around his wrist, clinging to him. Darkness, so much darkness, ripping through them, pulling them apart, disassembling them strand by strand. Taking him.

 _Dante_.

A single word, imbued with angry love and disdain, piercing him through.

Dante woke with a start, energy crackling against his skin, his breath short. New gouges had appeared in his mattress. That damn devil form again. Dante scoffed and hopped out of bed, smooth movement and forced casualness hiding his tremors. Sweat covered his body and he wobbled to the bathroom, splashing water over his face then shoving wet bangs away from it. Above the sink, shards of broken mirror reflected back at him a face he longed to forget.

* * *

In the deepest layer of Hell, a knight stops by a thick waterfall of mercury. The liquid metal absorbs light and reflects the world back at him. He sees a face--strong cheeks, pale skin streaked with blue, red eyes and swept back hair. His face, he realises. He had forgotten what he looked like. Slowly, he stretches his hand, touches his jaw. Moves fingers to his nose, his brow. It is a delicate face, he thinks, fragile.

Human.

The word surges, unbidden. With it comes bitterness and denial. He slaps his hand through the fall of mercury, breaking the image for a moment, but it reforms within seconds, reflecting his own face at him accusingly. Human, weak, fragile. Unfit to serve.

The knight whirls away and stomps off, shoulders squared with unmitigated pride. He is Mundus’s greatest general, and he needs no face.

Only power.


End file.
